


Painting You a Thousand Colours

by filthinbeau



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Painting Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, body painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthinbeau/pseuds/filthinbeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jin is not a painter, but Kazuya doesn't mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painting You a Thousand Colours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musicalkeiyuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalkeiyuu/gifts).



A rare chance, he must say since Jin had been kind, interested enough to do anything related to kitchen chores after dinner, or whole lot of heavy work according to the man himself that is including the usage of soaps, sponge even a mop. Even more uncommon since Jin had been able to get him to agree with such a casual request “Want to have some fun?” without much persuasion and such.

By that Kazuya doesn’t expect it to involve him lying flat on the bed, bare skin, expose and vulnerable like this. Even he should have known better. When the first two lubed digits dive inside him, he tenses and stills, with the eyes shut. The next thing comes without warning when the brief stretching stops and Jin enters him, little by little until to the hilt. But Jin stays on the position, unmoving instead he flinches when the tip of the brush meets his chest. 

“Are you serious?” Kazuya reminds himself that he had asked for this before, forgot when but this comes out of nowhere, unplanned. 

“Yes, while we fucking. Now stay still.” The tone is authoritative but Jin smiles. He obeys still, voluntarily placing his arms above his head to avoid unwanted disruption. The breath he takes hitches when Jin’s fingers follow with the soft brush, along the excellent curves and muscles on his torso, perfect at all the right places, profoundly. 

Kazuya waits patiently to have the brush glaze in a crimson mixture, the liquid drips onto his pale complexion, luckily not on the mattress under him. The fibers tickle his skin when they form a circular motion on the stomach. And then the movement goes higher, creating patterns more on his skin. Kazuya has his legs spread farther to welcome the incoming thrusts, slow and organised. 

He tries very best not to arch too much but the cold and wet sensation he feels seems to fail him. The best option he takes is to observe the man gently moving inside him, the slim brush on his grips still firm to make a steady unpredictable line on his body, that he struggles to keep motionless. Jin’s eyes hold Kazuya down deep and intense, to scrutinise all the sultry sign, painting him with delicate. He loves this. He loves this feeling of being a subject of art, mark by Jin, like he is some sort of masterpiece.

Jin dips the tip of the brush into a cup of water, to get the colour off and replaces with another. And then he leans forward above him, and Kazuya finds himself twisting when the angle inside him change to innermost. The tip of the brush halts on the chest when Jin inspects his face, to wait for Kazuya to relax.

All he ever wants is to bring their mouth together in a bruising kiss when thousands of fine hair of the brush is back, resuming its action now teasing his nipples. Jin presses the bristles, sweeps the tip on his buds alternately in a leisure way but the pressure is enough to send his toes curling. A few more strokes and scribbles on the chest and the older withdraw to set up a hasty speed. 

Amid the sensual rhythm, the stickiness of the wet paint on his body starts to make an uncomfortable feeling that Kazuya needs to restrain himself from running a hand down the body. It is kind of itchy. With one hand Jin takes a grasp on his thigh to lift slightly and pushes again harder to hit straight on his prostate. Kazuya arches high off the mattress forming beautiful sharp bow, like a canvas with ethereal painting shines under the moonlight. Jin pleases with the sight, impress and smiles.

“I’ll make you beautiful than you already are.”

He totally loses it now but he knows this is not the end. Jin is the painter, and he won’t stop until he wants to, until the need to be proud and satisfied with his piece of art consumes him. He is leaking hard with semen and Jin uses this chance to create a new mixture of colour, of that milky liquid with the paint. With tender he trails the brush along the veins to draw, swirling the tip of the brush on the tip of throbbing length. It is a delicious torture to feel the fine tip to fondle his balls again and again. Kazuya is gasping for air. But Jin doesn't forget to touch the beauty mark on his hip that he loves to caress everytime, in spiral. 

In hazy mind, he let his body to be moved back and forth when Jin continues moving in and out of him. He doesn't want to think how many random patterns are on his body, but chooses to completely submerge into the pleasure, a pure form of debauchery. The paintbrush is no longer in use as Jin smudges his palm over the colour palette and imprints his hand on Kazuya’s skin, wherever he could reach in his blissful state of mind, with moans and groans.

Keeping up the steady pace, Jin eagerly pumping the writhing man, with the various colours in his hand. Kazuya bucks up to meet the advances, flailing and searching to meet the other’s mouth and pulls, and then he feels Jin’s tongue pressing past his lips, their tongue battles together in a furious circles then finally, they reach the peak, simultaneously, almost at the very same time.

Soon more than recovered, his knees wobble when Kazuya leads himself to the bathroom to wash the stickiness. Jin is fast collapse being the last word he uttered was “beautiful” followed by aimless groping of appreciation, drained and spent from all the energy he has previously, and concentration.  
-The power of concentration Jin had is something to praise at. It is hardly to appear, Kazuya thinks.

Upon the main light is on Kazuya tries not to shriek, to witness the random patterns decorating his skin in clear vision now, of reds to oranges, blues to purples, and he runs a hand to trace the dry splatters, lines and smears. 

Inside the mirror he sees himself smiling, still fingering the patterns, amuses with the level of artistry Jin has, which is close to zero but perhaps way better than him. As corny it gets there is fluttering in his chest, when he sees them, on the place where heart is supposed to beat, the tiny black messy calligraphy, the kanji of love together with a pink crossbow heart shape, almost unrecognisable though or whatever that is should turn out to be. 


End file.
